Graveyard Baby
by Scarecrowqueen
Summary: Puck practically grew up in this Cemetary. Puck/Kurt pre-slash.


Disclaimer: they belong to Ryan Murphy. I am not Ryan Murphy.

* * *

"You seriously spent the night in a graveyard?"

Mercedes disbelieving exclamation drew the attention of the entire Glee club away from their excited chatter. They were meant to be rehearsing, but Mr. Shue had stepped out of the auditorium to take a personal call and the teens had descended into casual conversation about how the teens had all spent their weekends. Puck had thumbed through a book idly, listening with half an ear to tales of shopping and movies and dinners with relatives, ignoring Kurt's subtle barb about Puck's apparently surprising literacy. A month ago the snide comment would have resulted in dumpster dive, and maybe a slushie for good measure. Today, Puck allowed it to slide off his shoulders. He'd never really had any experience with it, but humility could be badass too, right? Not that Puck hadn't tried to apologize to everyone, especially Finn, which he totally hated doing, but by this point he had figured that some things might actually be worth more than his badassness and caved. Finn wouldn't even hear him out, though, and with both him and Quinn ignoring his existence, he'd fallen into something of a limbo, only emerging from the metaphorical wallpaper for Glee, and even there he was still considered only a necessary evil.

Somehow though, Puck had found himself awkwardly drawn into a conversation when Artie had asked if it was true that a member of the baseball team had gotten so drunk at a Cheerio's party that weekend that he'd had to be taken to the ER for a stomach pumping. Although Puck didn't doubt it, he'd been forced to admit that he hadn't been invited to the party, again with the social leprosy. When questioned again by Artie about his weekend exploits, and Puck loved him for his willingness for the fragile attempt at including him, Puck had gone for broke and thrown that little tidbit on the table.

Which he was now seriously regretting, feeling eleven pairs of eyes bearing down on him. It only lasted a moment though before Finn's voice broke over the rabble.

"You actually still do that?"

Puck sighed as the roomful of people shifted their gazes to him again. He sat forward in his seat and closed his book, clutching it tightly in one hand, and attempted to shrug carelessly. The leg bouncing with the nervous energy probably ruined it somewhat though, he figured.

"Yeah, well, had a fight with my mom and walked out. I had nowhere to go and it was a nice night. I just walked around, talked to a few dead people, dozed against a crypt for a bit." Here he sat back a bit, trying to lounge as bonelessly as he could despite the sudden tension in his frame. "Look, what's the big deal? I've done it before, I mean, it's as good a place to kill time in as any, and I live close. So what?"

"It's pretty creepy, that's what!" Santana's two cents were agreed upon by the room with nodded heads and murmurs.

"Whatever, dudes." Puck forced himself to shrug again as nonchalantly as possible while he replied. He felt he'd almost succeeded in avoiding the inevitable vilification when Kurt's cultured voice struck the killing blow.

"Do they know their dead Haley Joel, or are you just that hard up for someone to listen to your bullshit?"

The ice down his spine solidified in his chest, a mixture of cold rage and resignation. Puck rose swiftly, book clenched so hard in his shaking fist that the cover tore audibly. Kurt's eyes widened a little, but he didn't draw back like everyone else, and Puck had to grudgingly give the boy credit for holding his ground. Even Finn seemed a little wary, having seen this side of Puck before. When Puck finally spoke his voice has dead flat, shoulders squared for the confrontation.

"Ok, I see what this is. Asshole tax, right? I've been an asshole to pretty much everybody I've ever met and now I have to pay for it, with interest. Honestly, of everyone on Earth I've probably been the biggest asshole to you guys, so if you want to hear it again then fine, here it is. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for years of slushie facials and dumpster dives. I'm sorry for the name calling, for the cruel practical jokes, for being born if it will make you happy cause none of you deserved that and I know it now. Quinn, I'm sorry we drank too much and made bad choices. Finn, to you I'm sorry the most, because you've put up with my shit and had my back since we were in footie pyjamas together and you deserved better than what I put you through. We could still be friends if I hadn't have fucked it up, and you'll never know how much I regret it. We could've all been friends –" and here Puck took a moment to slowly meet everyone's eyes, saving Kurt's for last. "- but I ruined it all before it even began, and I know I can't make the past up to any of you short of lying down and letting you crucify me. So yeah, I'm pathetic. Twist the knife a little deeper next time; I don't think I've bled enough."

There nothing but the sound of Puck grabbing his bag and stalking rapidly out of the auditorium passed a stunned Mr. Shue, the heavy metal door echoing profoundly in the otherwise perfect silence.

* * *

Kurt found him at dusk, curled against a large headstone with a life-size carved angel on top, the kind with the wings and arms spread; embracing. Puck closed his book, smoothing the torn cover, deliberately not looking up.

"I figured this was where you'd be. This is the only cemetery in town that is old enough to have crypts."

Puck didn't acknowledge the explanation, but he didn't leave either when Kurt settled himself onto the cold ground next to him either. The said nothing for many long minutes, each gathering their thoughts, and it was Kurt who spoke again.

"Puck, I'm sorry-"

"Don't." Kurt mouth snapped shut at the sudden interruption, and Puck used the pause to plow forward. "Just, don't. Ok? Asshole tax, remember? Not supposed to feel bad about collecting your dues."

"Still –"

"I practically grew up here, you know?" Puck broke out over Kurt's apology again, not sure that he wanted to live in a world where the Gleek felt the need to apologize to him of all people. "I live over on Ashland, and my house backs onto the East side. There were no playgrounds nearby and we had a postage stamp size backyard, so I used to hang out there a lot. I'd play tag or hide and seek with my sister when my parents were busy fighting, just to get out of the house. After my dad left, my mom pretty much became a functioning alcoholic, and when it got bad enough we'd camp out here if the weather was nice. We had an old tent and some sleeping bags and we'd toast marshmallows over a candle and the geriatric caretaker never made us leave cause we never made a mess and sometimes we'd help with the weeding and raking and stuff, just for something to do. He used to call us his graveyard babies." Puck shifted a little, wondering where the sudden bout of verbal diarrhoea had come from, but the confession felt a little bit cathartic, like lancing an infected wound so he kept on. "When I got a little older, I got more interested in who all was actually buried here. I started memorizing inscriptions, making charcoal rubbings, even did a little digging at the library. There's a handful back in the southwest corner that belong to some young men that died fighting in World War II, did you know? And one old woman comes here every Sunday, rain, snow, or shine, and puts fresh daisies on both her husband and daughter's graves." Licking his dry lips, Puck raised his head a little for the first time since Kurt had arrived, watching the other boy watch him for a moment, before looking into the distance and continuing, the words coming free like autumn leaves.

"We all end up here, you know? Corpse or ashes, we all wind up under dirt and marble stones, and eventually enough time passes that no one left alive remembers who we were and what we meant to the world. In the end, those of us that don't make a very big mark become nothing but worn out marble angels."

"That's... somewhat morbid, Noah." Puck couldn't help the lip twitch that came after that statement.

"Maybe. I think it's kinda awesome. We're all equal in the end, right? Unless you grow up to be Elvis or something, I mean, nobody forgets The King." Kurt actually chuckled a little at that, and Puck was struck with the sudden weirdness of having provoked Kurt to laughter for the first time ever. Biting his lip and feeling suddenly shy; Puck decided that there was one more confession the other bow was owed.

"You, um, might not remember, Kurt, but this is where we first met, just over that hill there, in the newer section by the row of Hawthorns?"

"But that's where my mother is buried."

"I know, I was there, watching. Crept off halfway though, cause I didn't belong. " Kurt blinking slowly a couple of times, before his eyes widened in realization.

"You were the boy! The one sitting at the Angel's feet..." Kurt trailed off, leaning forward a little and looking up and back at the headstone they were leaning against. "It was this one! I'd run away as soon as they'd started putting the dirt back in, I didn't want to see my mother leave me forever. I was crying, and I ran..." Kurt stopped again here, looking at Puck with something that could almost be described as wonder. "You held my hand."

Puck couldn't fight the sudden flush that crawled onto his cheeks, opting to clear his throat and look away from Kurt's too-blue eyes.

"Yeah well, we were six, you were crying, I didn't know what else to do."

"You ran off when my Dad caught up."

"Dude, have you seen your Dad? He's a big guy, I was scared he'd be made at me or some shit." Again, Kurt laughed. His slender hand snaked down, finding Puck's hand on the ground between them and lifting it to his thigh, finger laced together. The blush returned with a vengeance and Puck felt his mouth go dry, eyes riveted on Kurt's hesitant, barely-there smile.

"I'm not crying."

"Not on the outside." Puck nodded in agreement, not trusting his voice. Kurt offered the barest squeeze of his hand, settling back a little more comfortably against the white stone, before speaking the last words to be had that evening.

"I think I see what you mean. It's peaceful here, and there's and Angel watching over us. Where else could we be?"

Eyes burning but still dry, Puck squeezed back.


End file.
